Neither can I. Outside it feels like March with the temps in the 40s and the snowmelt flowing down the street (making the hardpacked snow like glazed glass). It was funny seeing the plumber's truck sliding a few feet yesterday but it's no joke when I have to park out there so Durwood can come and go and I have to walk across that 6' of treachery underfoot. Part of the plumbing problem was taken care of and now we're waiting for the Water Dept. to be able to shut off all the water at the street so he can replace the main shutoff valve in the basement, and I just heard Durwood call ABT to schedule fixing the crack in the basement wall. I suspect that my car's computer brain isn't really fixed after all. When I got home from work and put it into Park the door locks didn't open automatically. That's something controlled by the Body Control Module so I have an inkling we may be going back to the mechanic. I stayed up late knitting my way through the last few rows of Fair Isle on the sweater front. Now I can knit with one color for about 6" and then split for the fronts, knit the sleeves (both on the same needle so they're identical), and finally have that project done so I can move on to the next one. I get to go play with Porter on my way home from work today. I went to Petco and bought a few of their ninety-nine cent tennis balls because she likes to chase them. She won't bring them back yet, but we're working on it. Maybe I should get some Liv-A-Snaps, our old dogs would do anything, I mean ANYTHING, for those.
February 1--Auguste Renoir, Figures on the Beach. You wonder if they are friends. It's hard to tell by the way they hold themselves. Do they smile as equals? Giselle, she stands there with her basket, hand on her hip, the breeze tugging her skirt. Marie-Ange sits n the sand, her small son playing at the water's edge. I know Giselle and Marie-Ange were not friends at school. Too many times she set their caps for the same boy and neither one was the clear winner in that age-old contest. Marie-Ange wed the baker and had her son soon after. There was counting to judge the relative prematurity of the boy but it was not the malicious sort of arithmetic, merely the normal calculation when a baby arrives before the couple's first anniversary.
And that's the end of that notebook. I wrote right to the last page and left about 3" of lines unwritten on. Good for me. Time to have breakfast and get ready to leave for work.